Christmas time.

Christmas time; mistletoe and wine, children singing Christian rhyme.

Well that’s just f*cking lovely but the bottom line is that most people I see around Christmas time  just seem to congregate near Sports Soccer and Argos furiously cashw@nking their fat wallets into the hopeful faces of dissafected strangers whilst wearing horrible white trainers.

And those f*cking antler things.

Christmas just seems to be a writhing orange clusterf*ck of carrier bags and superfluous packaging trimmed with forced pretend fun. And places are always too loud, too warm and too full of f*ckawful novelties that make me want to drink my own boiling piss straight from my own irritable peanus.

As if Cliff Richard would have any use for either mistletoe OR wine, he’s hardly going to get sh!tfaced and snog anyone as a 200 year-old tee total virgin.

Also; religion? Really?

It’s all very well having a big magic sky friend to turn, pathetically, to when you f*ck the absolute sh!t out of your life with your own mortal tw@thands but at the end of the day, it’s only God’s birthday or Jesus. Or both. Or something.

And all that normal sh!t we used to do before people learned to be so f*cking offended by everything, like nativity stuff, or carol singing, or basically f*cking anything at all… well it’s not like we still have that. Is it?

Big food is ace and watching the Queen’s speech makes me feel grown-up.

But I never did get that whole holy trinity thing.

God is Jesus’ Dad, right? But he didn’t actually do it with Jesus’ mum, who was suddenly six months up the duffpipe with her actual husband claiming never to have touched her, even on the ladyboob. Right….

And God and Jesus are the same person.

Yeah… you know what?

Next time they want to start hunting out the holy grail and all that magic amazing sh!t, they should start digging in Norfolk.

f*cking Norfolk.